By
Moses Chukwuemeka Daniel
Black birds in white clouds
Odd colour,
Beautifully absurd,
Black balls in white eyes,
Black tyres rolling white cars.
Old stories,
Chains and slaves,
Kissing black soils,
In shoes made of dust.
In nakedness was his skin and eyes,
In nakedness was his feet and arm,
He could have killed with resentment,
But his mind was never bare.
Patiently he waited,
Upon that bright blue sky,
Knowledge was his quest,
Emancipation was his desire.
One day he had a dream,
Where black was never evil,
A dream that would write history,
Where black was beautiful.
Sailing with excruciating pain,
In the faces of strict dismay,
Scorn thrown from yards away,
Pitiful white faces covered in black veils.
How could they have seen?
How could they have heard?
That there was dream,
That fate was reality.
Today is yesterday’s tomorrow,
Even black skies hold beautiful stars,
Endowed in black is beyond sorrow,
We are the stars that make the night smile.
Black birds in white clouds,
Black stories on white papers…..
Inspiration
A vague airy feeling,
Mixed with subtle thinking,
That creates crude reasoning,
One transforms to a beautiful piece.
It hits your heart with joy,
When slippery she comes,
Annexes your every thought,
And waits for you to work.
Emotionally you are engrossed,
In the closed cages of wisdom,
In your hands you harness,
Like the intertwined beauty of a bird’s nest.
It’s a hectic journey to express,
Especially with one’s pen,
You write and write with pride,
You write with sweat and smiles,
Inspiration suffers in your hands,
Just to behold her refined looks,
She cries sometimes,
Wishing she was done into something cool.
Inspiration dies,
When you do not realize,
Dexterity is beauty,
Only when you make the world see it.
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